


Germany's Stollen Tomatoes

by ItekNashoba



Series: Germany's Dreams of Italy [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Minor Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItekNashoba/pseuds/ItekNashoba
Summary: Italy packed something special for their picnicORGermany's stollen is stolen
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Series: Germany's Dreams of Italy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634440
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Germany's Stollen Tomatoes

**Author's Note:**

> Short drabbles of Germany dreaming of Italy

That was strange. Germany didn’t remember going outside, but the sky was above him; spring breeze and gentle rays of light and he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere else. Songs dance from the trees across the high meadow keeping rhythm with a brook. He’s sure he can hear horns in the distance but that wouldn’t be right. Still, he breathes deeply and wishes that perhaps there are in fact bugles far away - signaling Prussia has come home. 

“Germany?”

Italy is there? He hadn’t noticed the weight on his shoulder, but the hand on his cheek cannot be ignored. The smaller man is curled close, as he always is, honey eyes shining in the sun. Germany can’t believe his boldness to kiss that wanding hand, but everything is so perfect he doesn’t believe the Italian will mind. And he doesn’t if there’s any truth to the sweet giggle that comes from him. Did it taste as sweet as it sounded? He had to know, and covers the smaller man’s mouth with his own; candy lips against his until Germany parts them with his tongue. Any other day that was not so perfect Ludwig might chastise Feliciano for stretching his collar but there can be nothing wrong with the small man using it as leverage to bring them closer.

“What was the point of a picnic if you’re just going to eat me?”

It’s Germany’s turn to laugh and he traps Italy under him, “You’re sweeter.” He doesn’t care about the picnic, unnecessary as it is. Yet, food is always necessary to an Italian and he’s guided to sit with the smaller man between his legs. Feliciano brings stollen on a crisp white plate from somewhere Germany cannot see and he curls over him in gratitude. Prussia had been the one to make stollen. Christmas morning was the only day of the year his brother was up before the sun - loaf on Christmas day and the other saved for New Year- sugaring them in time for breakfast where they’d eat slices with hot coffee in a tradition held since his name was Westphalia.

“Oops! I almost forgot,” the man pouted, wiggling away from the large man’s hold, facing him with a sigh. “We can’t eat this.”

“But-” _What was the point?_ And now, now Germany wanted it. Before his protest could take form, the Italian smiled tapping the confection with a poof of candy-colored smoke. “But-” Germany repeated. 

In its place was a tomato. Just an ordinary tomato, but not the stollen he had been tempted with and he picked the controversial fruit from the plate in horror. Where had his stollen gone?

“Oh, ve~” Germany turns to Italy’s disappointed sigh. The slender man holds a basket, pulling plate after plate and setting them aside. “We can’t eat any of this.”

Disbelief came out in an intelligible stream. There were dozens of cakes, surely they could eat at least one?

“No, no we can’t,” Italy lamented softly. A storm’s roar cut over the far away horns and Germany watched the sky in horror as his perfect day ran grey. “They’ll get ruined in the rain. But don’t worry West! I’ll fix it!”

_West?_

“Italy, what-”

Pastel puffs explode like mushroom clouds as he is ignored and Italy is tapping cakes. The skies cry for him as one by one his stollen vanish. Tomatoes roll from their plates towards him, multiplying as Italy seeks to empty the neverending basket. His eyes have gone red, glowing in the fog; color fleeing from his hair until snow truly takes his sunny day. Vines seem to twist around him, wings like leaves unfurling as the tomatoes begin to collect around Germany’s waist and the blonde realizes he can’t move; trapped in tomatoes as they pile higher and higher. 

Until he’s not. Before Germany can recall why he’s woken sweating in the night, he feels a body stretch against his, a slender leg hook between his own. Italy’s sleeping lips parted, blowing warm breath into his neck lulls his eyes shut, content that whatever woke him was just a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Complete crack with some sneaky brotherly love


End file.
